


Professional Relationships

by FlorentineQuill



Series: Alternative Arrangements [1]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: (naturally), Business AU, F/M, Gen, Not My Fault, Sharing a Bed, Tattoos, diaval is really good at pining, happy anniversary maleficent fandom, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorentineQuill/pseuds/FlorentineQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mallory Parker and her personal assistant Diaval are attending a business conference. Diaval was positive he booked a suite with two beds. Curse those unfortunate computer errors and over-booked hotels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which superior-subordinate work boundaries are definitely crossed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalalittlelovebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalittlelovebird/gifts).



> Lalalittlelovebird is a terrible, terrible, prompt-sharing influence. I fully admit it's my own damn fault for wanting to create a separate AU. BUT STILL. TERRIBLE. INFLUENCE. 
> 
> I have no idea what Diaval's last name is, or what industry Mallory works in xD Something business-y and ethical, for the requisite backstory I have yet to come up with, beyond the gorier details.

Diaval took deep breaths as he ironed out his shirt and suit jacket for the next day, just to give himself something to do. Behind him, he could hear his boss on the phone, speaking to the concierge. He deliberately did not turn around when he heard the soft click of the handset being put down. He smoothed out the jacket sleeves, making sure he wasn’t going to iron in new wrinkles. The hiss of steam almost covered the slow, controlled, breath being let out behind him. Almost. He slid the jacket onto the hotel-provided hanger and turned around. 

Mallory Parker was sitting on the bed, rubbing her temples, eyes closed. Even with her eyes closed, her expression did not bode well for their current situation. After a moment, she opened her eyes and regarded him. “Ironing out your suit jacket, Diaval?” she asked. “I’m sure the hotel has a laundry service for those particular details.”

“I like to keep busy,” he replied, unruffled. “Why pay extra when I don’t have to?”

One corner of her mouth curled up. “A fair point. Though with the current situation, I’m sure the hotel would be delighted to offer you free laundry services.” The small smile turned into a snarl. “Due to the conference, the hotel is fully booked. As are most of the other hotels in the area.”

Diaval swallowed. “Of course it is,” he said. Turning, he hung up the jacket before his trembling hands could be noticed. “Well, have them send up some extra blankets and pillows, I’m sure I can make the armchair or loveseat into a bed, kip out on that—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mallory interrupted. “You’ll wake up in knots, if you get to sleep at all. You’d be of no use to anyone.” 

Diaval’s mouth snapped shut, and he swallowed. Eyed the large bed. “Ma’am,” he said. “Would that— If anyone heard—”

Mallory raised one eyebrow. “Only if someone were to talk,” she said. “I don’t think that will be an issue.” The eyebrow inched higher, and her voice was dangerously pleasant. “Will it?” Her words were half-challenge, half-command.

“No, ma’am,” he replied, lifting his chin. Drew in a deep breath. “Would you like the bathroom first? It’s been a long day.” When she hesitated, he continued, “I can order room service, or run out to find something local.”

“I could use a stiff drink,” she muttered, but stood up. She picked up her toiletries bag, and an armful of sleek fabric that gleamed green. “Order something up. I’m not available for the rest of the night.”

Diaval inclined his head. Familiar territory, if one ignored the king-sized elephant in the room. “Yes, ma’am.” The bathroom door shut, and he groaned softly. Let his chin sag forward to bump against his chest, and groaned. “You can do this, Diaval,” he mumbled under his breath. “You can do this. Just…don’t do anything stupid.” 

With that in mind, he stood up straight, and folded away the ironing board before reaching for the phone to order dinner. He ignored the shower running in the bathroom, wandering out to the connected receiving room. Oh, it was luxurious enough, with fine modern furnishings, a small bar, and an oversized flatscreen TV. He rubbed his fingers over the plush fabrics idly, comparing it to the worn, stained couches and chairs he remembered from his childhood and college apartments. Dinner was soon ordered, and the bar was well stocked.  Duties discharged, Diaval settled himself on the couch with his personal laptop, a rum and Coke at his elbow.

By the time the bathroom door opened again, several covered plates were on the table. Diaval shut his laptop, and had to stop himself from smiling. His boss— usually formidable and implacable in the dark suits and skirts she wore— was wearing a set of forest green silk pajamas, her feet incongruously bare, and her hair tucked up into one of those odd towel-turbans. He stood up and reached out a long arm to whisk off the chafing dishes. “I got you the salmon and Greek salad,” he said, pushing the plates over to her. “And the kitchen recommended the red wine that came with it.”

Mallory settled herself at the table, graceful as ever. “Thank you,” she said. “Would you mind fetching me a glass?”

Diaval flushed. “Of course. I should have thought of it.” 

“You’re within your rights to say no,” Mallory said, watching him step behind the bar. “You’re off the clock by now, I imagine.”

“I know,” Diaval replied. He wiped a faint water stain off the base of the glass, ignoring how his throat was rather dry. He cracked a smile. “You’re not the only workaholic in this room, ma’am. And I would never give in to the urge to drink on the job.” He made a show of loosening his tie, and mixing himself another rum and Coke.

“Are you implying that I drive you to drink?” Mallory asked, but her lips were twitching.

“Never,” Diaval said, sitting across from her. “Some of your colleagues on the other hand…” He tugged his own dinner of crab-stuffed chicken and steamed vegetables, towards himself.

“I would never be able to guess who,” Mallory deadpanned, pouring herself a full glass of wine and smelling it. There was a trio of women who seemed to spend most of their days giggling and/or complaining over overpriced lattes, but did their jobs well enough that HR’s hands were tied. 

Diaval lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. Dinner passed in silence, and Mallory made a point of being the one who collected the dirty dishes and setting them out to be collected. Diaval took the chance to slide into the bathroom. His own pajamas were far less elegant, consisting of a ragged muscle shirt and flannel pants with worn-out elastic. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, wrinkling his nose at the stubble he could feel growing. He draped the washcloth to dry, when there came a quiet knock. 

“Come in, I’m about done,” he called, hitching his pants so that they sat a little higher on his waist that normal. 

Mallory opened the door. “What side of the bed…” Her voice trailed off, and he glanced back, startled. He rarely heard her at a loss for words. She was looking at his arms. “I didn’t realize you had tattoos,” she said, still looking.

Diaval glanced down at his arms, flushing again. Of course she had never seen his tattoos. His left arm was covered in a full sleeve. Dots of black swirled around his wrist to merge into an irregular black band that wrapped around his forearm. As it stretched up, it faded into the silhouette of a forest. There were three birds in flight under a crescent moon and stars. Aurora borealis wrapped around his upper arm, with the hint of a stylized bird in flight in the ribbons of light. The only hint of color, were traces of blues and greens in the auroras. His right forearm was bare, except for three bands of varying thickness, all black. He also had a realistic raven on his right shoulder blade, but that was one was half-hidden by his shirt.

“I can hardly show them off at work,” he said. “It wouldn’t be professional. I have a sweatshirt, if they bother you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Mallory replied, meeting his eyes again. “What side of the bed do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, the old lie tripping from his lips comfortably. “Do you have a preference?”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward, but close. “The left side,” she said.

“Suits me,” he said. “Here, I’ll clear out so you can brush your teeth.” He slid past her, into the bedroom. The rest of the lights in the suite were already off. Not letting himself think, he tugged the covers down on the right side of the bed and lay down. He wasn’t so obvious as to perch on the edge of the bed, but he stayed well away from middle of the mattress. “Good night,” he said without looking back at the bathroom.

“Good night,” Mallory replied quietly. 

Diaval kept his eyes shut, and tried not to feel like a horrible creeper as he listened to her brush her teeth. The bathroom light clicked off before the door opened. He kept still as the sheets rustled, and the mattress dipped as Mallory got into bed. Diaval wasn’t sure how long it took him to fall asleep, but eventually the hum of the air conditioner, and the quiet breathing across the bed lulled him to sleep.


	2. In which Mallory and Diaval wake up and go about their day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, to a couple programming friends: So how would programming a security firewall thing work?  
> Them: [give me long, involved, very thoughtful explanations]  
> Me: M'kays well, I'll just ignore all of that because plot.
> 
> SO DISCLAIMER I TOTES IGNORED ANY AND ALL ADVICE ABOUT HOW COMPUTER PROGRAMMING WORKS.
> 
> (Brownie points for those who recognize the non-Maleficent lines I borrowed from another film.)

Diaval’s obnoxious rooster alarm went off at six. He rolled over onto his side, and fumbled for his phone. The alarm cut off mid-crow, and Diaval grunted. He lay there for a moment, muzzily sorting through his mental agenda for the day as he stared at the sunlight creeping past the room’s blackout curtains. He was at the conference, he and Mallory had gotten in late last night…

He froze as the covers shifted and something pressed against his calf, burrowed under it. His heart thudded in his chest as he remembered exactly how last night had ended. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Mallory was still asleep. At some point in the night, they had both migrated towards the center of the bed. She was on her stomach, stretched out with her toes tucked under his leg. 

Diaval swallowed, and carefully scooted his leg away from her feet, towards the edge of the bed. When she didn’t stir, he let out a sigh of relief and slid out from under the covers, standing up. Mallory grumbled in her sleep, and rolled onto her stomach, stretching her feet into the warm spot he’d left. 

He watched her for a minute. She had braided her hair, but it was a much looser affair than the flawless buns she wore in the office, with tendrils escaping to curl over her neck and cheek. Awake, she exuded a sense of power that had spines straightening and the younger staffers sweating bullets at twenty feet. Now, none of that power wasn’t present. She was just a woman, muscles slackened in sleep. 

Diaval’s fingers twitched, and he turned away, scrubbing at his face. After unplugging his phone, he fetched one of the complimentary bathrobes from the bathroom and padded out into the receiving room through the connecting door. Here, the curtains were flung open, and he squinted in the early morning light. The view of downtown was fantastic, with some of the skyscrapers wreathed in morning mist and traffic sparse on the streets below. He stood, watching the cars, until his brain had soaked up enough sunlight to remember that yes, there was a coffee maker tucked against the backsplash of the kitchenette, tucked around the corner from the bar. 

Coffee grounds scooped into the carafe and several mugs of water added, Diaval waited. Slouching against the counter, he checked his personal Gmail account (spam, bill pay reminder, social media alerts, spam …) before clicking over to his work email. There were a flurry of complimentary service offers from the hotel. He flicked all of them into the folder he’d made for the trip. That left one email from Balthazar about today’s schedule.

_I just received word that Kingsland Securities intends to try cracking the Wall (again). Stefan will be there._

Diaval let out a slow breath. “Smarmy bastard,” he muttered. He’d only had the displeasure of encountering Stefan Kingsland once, not that he thought that the man would remember. Stefan was rich— and made sure everyone around him knew. From his bespoke suits to the cars he drove, he oozed money. On the surface he seemed genial enough, slapping backs and shaking hands, but if something wasn’t to his standards, everyone within a hundred feet would know.

“Now I know you could’t possibly be referring to yourself,” said a dry voice. 

Diaval startled, almost dropping his phone. Mallory was leaning against the corner, wrapped in a dressing gown of muted gold. Her eyes were half-shut against the morning sun, and his breath caught in his throat.

He stared at her for several seconds until the words assembled themselves into some manner of sense. “I didn’t hear your alarm go off,” he managed. He smoothed back his hair. “Good morning, ma’am.” He stuck his phone in the pocket of his bathrobe

She hummed, noncommittal. “I smelled coffee brewing,” she said. When he reached for a mug, she nodded. He poured two cups, doctoring them appropriately. He took cream and sugar in his, but she took only sugar— in copious quantities. She watched him move around the small kitchenette, head tilted to one side. His skin prickled at the attention, but he ignored it. She accepted her mug and took a seat at the bar. 

He sidled behind the bar, leaning against the booze-lined counter and drinking his coffee. Mallory waited until he set his empty mug on the counter before asking, “Has anything new come up on the agenda for today?” 

The weight of his phone seemed to increase tenfold. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Kingsland Securities is taking another crack at the Wall. I know you planned on stopping by there at some point today. Balthazar emailed me. Stefan Kingsland plans to attend.” 

Mallory’s lips curled up into a smile that was nothing short of vicious. “Really,” she murmured. “Have we arranged for the popcorn sellers?”

His answering smile was sly. “I’m not sure, but I can check if you like,” he replied. “Perhaps a tip off to the concession vendors?”

“Clever man,” Mallory said, standing up. “I knew I paid you for a reason.”

Diaval clutched his chest. “You mean you keep me for more than my beautiful face?”

“I can hardly list your looks as reason for your employment.” Mallory walked towards the bathroom. “Email Balthazar back, let him know we’ll be stopping by around noon.”

“Details, details,” Diaval said, waving his hand. “Wait— Was that an insult or a compliment?”

Mallory didn’t reply, shutting the bathroom door. The shower started up, and Diaval let out a breath. He smoothed back his hair again. “Good job, Diaval. That was…so smooth.” He slouched back over to the coffee pot for another cup, already tapping out the first of the day’s emails with his free hand.

— 

Diaval cooled his palms that were pink from clapping on a water bottle as he waited backstage. It wasn’t particularly dignified of him, but Mallory’s presentations were always masterful. Moors Securities was so successful because their products were both top of the line, responding to attacks— recording attacker’s data, backtracking them, and feeding relevant information to the authorities if necessary— while remaining intuitive and easy to use for a wide variety of companies. 

As the applause died down, Mallory stalked down the stairs. Diaval tossed her the bottle and fell into step as she quickly moved into the back hallways that spanned the convention center. Away from the crowds, Mallory grinned, sharp and fierce and glad. Diaval smiled back. 

He clapped again, softly. “Well done. I think you managed to eviscerate most of the competition without ever insulting their products,” he said. 

Mallory let out a snort of amusement. “I do try,” she allowed.

Diaval felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he checked it. “And, oh look, it’s time for lunch.”

“Wonderful.” Mallory’s eyes glittered. She increased her pace, long legs eating up the carpeted hallway at a speed that had Diaval jogging beside her. By the time they reached the room where the Wall Challenge was hosted, Diaval wasn’t quite out of the breath, but his shirt was going to require some pre-laundry treatment care to prevent sweat stains. 

Mallory looked flawless as ever. She paused at the door and sniffed the air before raising an eyebrow at him.

“No food vendors allowed in this area,” he replied. “I checked during your first panel.”

“Pity,” she said, and they slipped inside. 

For all the hype given to the Moors Wall Challenge, there wasn’t much seating for a prospective audience. Frankly, there wasn’t much to see. Unlike the movies, hacking was slow, deliberate work, creating the programs ahead of time to attack or subvert the pursuant firewalls. There was rarely frantic typing of keyboards or last minute coding. Largely, it was a matter of sitting and waiting for your programs to either succeed or fail, and then analyzing the results.

There were a few reporters in the several rows of chairs. The persistent, or newbies, Diaval thought. He smothered a grin, spotting one reporter who was slumped in his seat. The man’s chin was on his chest and he snored. There were some others, minor associates from both the Moors and Kingsland Securities in the front row, on either side. In the front of the room, there were two massive computer set ups. Servers were connected to massive hard drives with thick bundles of cables. Monitors were carefully angled and swathed in privacy screens to prevent corporate espionage.

With the thick carpet muffling her heels, Mallory ghosted over to the Moors set up. Diaval followed behind. He took careful note of which reporters tracked her entrance out of the corner of his eye. Mallory said nothing as she inspected the monitors, her face smoothed of any emotion. After several minutes, she straightened up and folded her arms across her chest. Diaval glanced at the screens, but he had never been able to pick out anything except the simplest lines of code — and the Wall was anything but simple. Still, the small group of software engineers and programmers appeared intent on their screens, with none of the nerve-fraying tension that was palpable from the opposite side of the room.

Mallory stared, unblinking, at the man pacing back and forth along the line of the computers. His suit was the best money could buy, but his tie was half-undone. His gelled hair was starting to fall into his eyes after one too many rakings with frustrated fingers. His mustaches and beard were looking more than a little ragged, and the glowing computer screens gave his skin an eerie pallor. Diaval watched how Stefan Kingsland’s fists clenched at his sides and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. There were one or two cameras quietly clicking now, aimed at both sides of the room

Balthazar, Mallory’s able VP, emerged from where he’d been inspecting the servers. He towered over everyone else in the room at 6’4. He wore tailored suits emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs, silently menacing. He inclined his head to Mallory and Diaval. “I was wondering when you’d pop in,” he murmured. 

“Diaval promised me popcorn,” Mallory replied, still staring. Stefan had stopped pacing now. Instead, he was looming over a young programmer, whose shoulders kept twitching up towards his ears. After a moment, the man’s shoulders sagged and Stephen pulled away with a scowl.

Balthazar glanced at Diaval for an explanation of Mallory’s words, but Diaval just gave him the most innocent look he could manage. The older man snorted. “There was something that sparked a frisson of panic earlier, but the Wall held,” he said. Mallory turned her head, arching an eyebrow. Balthazar reached for a nearby tablet and keyed something up. “From the reactions, it came from the little blonde thing, tucked in the corner.” He handed the tablet to Mallory. 

She studied the tablet and clicked her tongue in distaste. “Clever little beastie,” she murmured, scrolling through the swathes of code. “Looks like she was trying to play false friend. We’ll have to plug that particular hole. Email it to me and I’ll see what I can do.” She put the tablet down and refolded her arms.

Across the room, another Kingsland man slumped back in his chair, his program defeated. He scrubbed his hands over his face and said something. Whatever it was, Stefan’s head snapped around. He strode up to the engineer, spinning the man’s chair away from the screen. “Nothing is indestructible!” he shouted. “Not the Wall, not Moors Securities, not even Mallory Parker!” His native accent, normally hemmed in by careful diction and speech lessons, slurred his th’s and roughened his r’s. 

Mallory’s spine went from straight to ramod-stiff. The cameras swung from side to side and the buzz of voices rose above the servers. Balthazar stepped up to her side, hands clasped behind his back. Diaval faded back to the wall, touch typing several notes without looking at his phone. Mallory’s gaze swept the room before she spoke, each word clipped and precise. “A glittering assemblage, Stefan.” For all of her projecting to the corners of the room, she sounded like she was speaking to someone next to her. “But you will not pass the Wall.” She paused, drawing a breath. “Gain more bearing, Kingsland. Seek us again when you’re worthy.”

Stefan’s jaw tightened, and didn’t reply. Mallory smiled, red lips curling back from her teeth. Stefan looked away first and Mallory’s smile widened. “Diaval,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”

“Of course ma’am,” he replied, straightening his tie. 

Balthazar nodded at them as they passed him, and turned back to the monitors. The rapid clicking of cameras and murmurs of the small audience followed them out into the halls.


	3. In Which Tragic Backstories Are Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams are inevitable. Diaval had forgotten what it's like to have someone there when he woke up.

_Am I speaking with Diaval Faulkner?_

_Yes, hello, what can I do for you?_

_My name is McKenzie Hawthorne, I’m calling from the Underhill Hospital—_

_Diaval’s memories of that afternoon were fuzzy, but the subconscious held onto the funniest things, replaying everything in vivid technicolor. His boss had apparently been the one to drive him to the hospital, where the cops and doctors had been waiting to explain what had happened._

Diaval wrenched himself awake, dragging in breath after breath to try and fill a chest gone tight with the urge to cry. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, forcing himself to smooth out the shudders and hitches in his breathing. His shirt and pants clung to his skin with sweat. He flung back the covers, wondering when the bed had become an oven. The air-conditioned room was better than a slap to the face. He swung his legs over the side and just. Kept. Breathing. 

“Are you alright?” 

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck balls._ Diaval didn’t turn around. He scrubbed at his face, and refused to flinch when the bedside lamp behind him clicked on. 

“Just a bad dream, ma’am,” he said after the silence gained an expectant quality. “They happen.”

The bed creaked and he stiffened as silk whispered closer to him. “Who’re Natasha and Vladimir?” 

His hands tightened on the mattress edge, each name a punch to his gut. He wrestled the grief back down and cleared his throat. He bit back the urge to snap about eavesdropping on other people’s dreams but— he talked aloud in his sleep, especially during bad dreams. He tried to keep his voice light, but there was an edge. “You should go back to sleep, ma'am, you have that speech in the morning.”

“Oh yes, however will I manage a speech about the promising future of the industry and the need to collaborate with the next generation on a few hours sleep,” Mallory replied, deadpan. He didn’t have to turn to see her raise her eyebrow. “Goodness knows any other CEO would let their PA suffer in silence.”

“Stefan Kingsland would,” he muttered under his breath. He rubbed at the bands of black ringing his forearm. “You— You never looked at the background check? My, uh, work history was…not good. Beyond how we first met, I mean.”

“I left the details to HR,” she said. “When a clever young man falls into my lap in the midst of crisis, I tend not to question fate.”

His laugh got stuck in his throat, resulting in an odd sort of croak. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to find the shortest explanation possible. “I— I scarce know what to say, ma’am.” 

Silk rustled again, and he could feel the nearness of her now— Not touching, but close enough that the mattress dipped under her weight. Something in him loosened, let his shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, and his throat unclenched. “There was a car crash,” he got out. This time when the tears threatened, he let them fall. They slid down his cheeks to drip onto his lap. He leaned his head back and sucked in a deep breath against the hurt. “I had a wife, ma’am. I had a son.” His voice cracked. He curled forward, turning his head enough so that he could bite his forearm. He refused to outright sob in front of his boss-- His work shirts would hide the bruising just fine.

When Mallory placed a hand on his shoulder, he shivered, but didn’t move. He dreaded the apology that must have been on her lips, and was surprised when she spoke in a voice that was far too even. 

“I was in a car crash once.” She spread her fingers wide and the tips of her nails raked across the breadth of his back as she continued. “Stefan dragged me out of the shattered window on my back.”

Diaval gave a startled twitch at Stefan’s name and stopped biting his arm. He didn’t move beyond that, listening too hard.

“By the time I woke up from the coma, he had taken the source code I’d been working on and sold it— and himself— to Kingsland. Balthazar recruited me within the year. Between the two companies, the details were buried so far, you’d need a shovel to find any records of it. Literally, I imagine.” She dragged her nails down his back once more and pulled away as if she hadn’t dropped the conversational equivalent of a metric ton of TNT.

Diaval scrubbed at his face, sitting up slowly as he tried to imagine Mallory Parker working with Stefan Kingsland voluntarily. “That…bastard,” he breathed after several minutes. “Why didn't you kill him?”

There was a familiar huff of dry amusement. “I was weaker than a kitten for months. By the time I was fit to live by myself, I had already decided that destroying him at his own game would be far more satisfying.” The lamp clicked off. “I’d say I succeeded admirably, wouldn’t you?” 

It was Diaval’s turn to chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied and stood up. “Go back to sleep. I want to make that everything for the trip home is set.” He snagged his robe and phone before leaving the bedroom. The door had almost closed when Mallory spoke again.

“I am sorry for your loss, Diaval.” Her voice was soft.

Diaval’s shoulders twitched up. “I am sorry for your loss as well, ma’am.”

“Old wounds. Do try and get some sleep later, Mr. Faulkner.” 

Diaval didn’t reply, and pulled the door shut with a gentle _click._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I continue to heap abuse on our poor lovelies :D 
> 
> Maleficent was a computer sciences major, collaborating with business major/childhood friend, Stefan and we see how well that turned out. Diaval's forearm tattoos are memorial tattoos for his wife and child and his uncle (dead of natural causes, thankfully). 
> 
> PSA: Please don't bite yourself to keep from sobbing in front of your boss after revealing Tragic Backstory. I'm sure s/he/they would understand
> 
> TWO MORE CHAPTERS I SWEAR BECAUSE I WANT TO SHOW HOW THEY MET AND HOW AURORA FITS IN


End file.
